When I'm All Grown Up,

There Was Some Sadness In How That Could Happen, Falling Out Of Love With Something That Had Shaped You. Or Even People Who Had.

What Man Would Dare Believe That All He Planned Might Come To Pass?

Why Did Becoming Accustomed To Something Have To Render Its Pleasures Stale.

Words Were Power, Words Tried To Change You, To Shape Bridges Of Longing That No One Could Ever Really Cross.

We Must Be What We Are, Or We Become Our Enemies.